This is for the fat girls,This is for the little brothers,
This is for the school yard wimps, this is for the childhood bullies who tormented them.
This is for the former prom queen,
This is for the night time cereal eaters,
And for the retired elderly walmart store front door greeters. . .
Shake the dust
This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them,
For the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns,
For the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children,
For the night time schoolers,
And the midnight bike riders who are tring to fly.
Shake the dust.
This is for the two-year-olds who can not be understood because they speak have English and half God,
Shake the dust
For the girls with the brothers going crazy,
For the gym class wall flowers and the twelve-year-olds afraid of taking public showers,
For the kid who is always late to class because he forgets the combination to his locker,
For the girl who love somebody else,
Shake the dust
This is for the harden men, the harden men who want love but know that it won't come,
For the ones who are forgotten,
The ones who are told speak only when you are spoken to, and then are never spoken to.
Speak Where you stand . . . . . . (cont).
Anis came to USU today. I've been excited to see him for some time.
And i was not disappointed at all. I love the sound of a unique voice reading, reciting.
After I walked up to him and shook his hand . . . He is just a little guy. I was so impressed at the time he was taking to get to know the people he was talking to, tring to remember names and looking at them right in the eye, making little jokes and writing more then just a word or two in the books they had him sign. . . He gave me a high five.
It just put me on a high to be there, a wade through all the crappy poetry to see him.
And at the end of the night when I left Lee's house there was not a car in the world on the street, and that long hill that connects his house to mine was still and dimly lit by the street lights, and you could smell spring as my bike soared down that hill.
It was a good flight home.
4 comments:
I don't know who that is, but that poem was amazing. I want to be a midnight bike rider too.
Hey, I don't mean to spam your blog but I need as many people as I can get to vote on what bike I should get. (I'M GETTING A BIKE!!) It's on my blog.
sounds like a good ride, but was at as good as the one we took after pizza movie night? sky filled with stars, summer night breeze, flying down the middle of the street as faster as our cruisers could handle...
that was a good ride too
That was a good ride too.
I'm telling ya- 4th north, that street is magic at night.
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